


Bad Dreams

by apy02



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Gen, Medic has PTSD, Night Terrors, Past Abuse, Physical Abuse, highly supported by the comics so it’s spoilery to say the least
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-04-06
Packaged: 2020-01-05 14:28:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18367904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apy02/pseuds/apy02
Summary: Medic’s still going through his living hell, even if the perpetrator is no longer alive.(Major character death is heavily referenced and comic events are called back to. There’s a lot of death talk about previous events but nobody dies in writing.)





	Bad Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> i’m pretty happy about this one came out, and i’ve been working with it for a while. any feedback is appreciated and thank you for the read!

 

  The doctor, despite his exhaustion, continued to hastily work on his paperwork in the near-empty infirmary. Rushed writing paused with his head slowly rising. The juncture was all too familiar; A clinic, but not the one he had been used to living in at the REDs’ barracks. He could recognize his surroundings instantly. It shot a sharp strike of adrenaline into his chest as his heartbeat quickened. Not entirely sure as to why, he felt somewhat unsettled. Almost as if he was sensing something  

  Anxiety only heightened as footsteps began to echo down the hallway outside of the room. Angry, loud stomping that grew closer. It was leaving a pit of dread to manifest in his chest alongside an apprehensive feeling.

  A large man appeared in the doorway. “Medic,” the voice growled, beginning to approach. The tone it took was a clear indicator of anger.

  “Oh, uh, Hallo Hea-“

  “Where are those papers I asked you for?” he interrupted sternly, not even attempting to pull a guise of politeness.

  Medic tried to stay as collected as possible under the increasing intensity. But once the furious man stood directly in front of him, he couldn’t help but to let out a nervous, submissive smile. Force of habit. “What do you mean?”

  Before the victim do anything to retaliate, Heavy grabbed Medic’s shirt collar with one hand and practically pulled him off the ground, closer to his face. “I told you to finish them yesterday.”

  “I... know that, but they were not high priority. We had much else to do yesterday, ja?”

  A dissatisfied, angered sigh was let out at the statement. “You’re never focused on your actual work here. And I’ve had it.“ He took the frightened doctor and slammed his body onto a wall, still holding him against it to his eye-level. “You know what I’m talking about, right?”

  “Uh... Ah, yes, I do...” he falsely admitted, his voice trying its best to refrain from cracking out of plain fear and the painful regret of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. It could have been various things, including the experiments he had done on the classics and his slowed work output. But a cause for this outburst didn’t matter at this point. That Heavy was looking for a reason to punish him, and he wouldn’t stop until he had one. 

Occurrences like these were not incredibly common, but it always came upon Medic to act as a personal stress toy.

  This was not because of a submissive nature (which Medic is known to lack, as he may find the need to be too controlling at times). This was really because of incomparable physical strength between the two men. While he would usually resist against allowing anyone to use to use him this way, he did not want to face the even worse abuse that came with protesting someone who was this much stronger than himself. It truly sobered him to know that Classic Heavy loved the pain of others more than Medic, despite his predominant sadism. There would be no hesitation in obliterating a body half his size for any reason he pleased.

  But, he needed Medic alive, and business came first. This allowed for conscious thought to be preserved no matter the desire to see the corpse, cold on the floor. Which Medic knew could be right around the corner for him, regardless. He just wanted to avoid these consequences so that he wouldn’t have to be weaker than he already was going to be after this beating. 

  Heavy’s face shifted to a content smirk, replacing his previously enraged expression. “Good. Then you’ll understand why I have to do this.” He abruptly let the Medic down, allowing him to gasp for air before being grabbed by the shoulders. Heavy quickly spun his victim around before throwing him down on a desk, face hitting the surface with a loud bang. His victim’s arms had become trapped by large hands of the mercenary in control with large hands wrapped around his wrists.

  Blood began to seep from Medic’s nose from the forceful impact on the table. Offending paperwork became stained with the freshly drawn blood.

  Groaning to himself,  Heavy removed his now-cracked glasses from his face to examine them. “Hope you won’t be needing these, Doc,” he chuckled as he threw them to the side. “At least one of the lenses was still in tact, hm? Well, anyways... Stay there. Get up, and you’ll be sorry.”

  He let the Medic’s body free as he explored the surgical equipment in a tray nearby. Running through all the options he could in his head, the doctor couldn’t think of any option but to obey his command. It pissed him off immensely to be stuck in such an embarrassing position, but the threat carried enough weight on its own. He could only hope that what he was about to get would be less injurious than whatever being “sorry” would entail. 

  Within the mixture of unorderly tools, there was an old bloody rag next to a small jar. Reading the label made a smirk on the eager man’s face reveal itself. “You know... You shouldn’t be leaving these all out for the taking. It makes this easy.”

  Medic’s mind quickly raced with possibilities of what he meant until his he was hit with realization as he heard the jar opening. That was chloroform he had forgotten to put away, used earlier in a surgery on one of those other Classic teammates.

  “O... Oh mein Gott...” he whined to himself.

  “Aw, what’s wrong? You’re worried you’re going to get a taste of your own medicine?” Heavy teased as he poured the liquid substance on the rag. “You’re pathetic.”

  “Th-That is not medication, please-“

  “Oh, shut up,” he commanded curtly as he forced Medic’s body upwards into his own chest. He now stood straight up in front of the large mercenary, holding back from turning around in a knowingly futile attempt to give him a punch in the jaw. “I know exactly what it is, smartass.”

  Heavy grabbed Medic’s hair with one hand before wrapping the other around the face, forcing the chloroform to be taken into his panicked breath. Medic no longer cared about the repercussions of his actions as began to struggle out of pure panicked action. There was no chance to avoid being unconscious in mere minutes.

  “Nobody is coming to save you, and you’re sure as hell not getting out of this as puny as you are.” The already tight grip adjusted itself to force the Medic’s head closer, almost as if he was sealing his fate in that forcible action. “You couldn’t do a thing if you tried. You coward.”

  The thought of losing all control of the mind and body to Heavy filled him with fear more than anything else. Strength continued to deplete as his body grew to have a weighted down feeling. His mind attempted to still race and panic, yet it had no choice but to slow. 

  A desperate heart continued to pound for as long as it could, even if hope seemed impossible. 

But the entirety of this loosing battle came to an abrupt close as his eyes opened.

  Medic was suddenly free from his captivity, as he sat up in a bed, letting a scream out as his body shot upwards. Hyperventilation continued as he tried to gather his surroundings. It was his own bedroom, dimly lit by a lamp on his nightstand. Breathing began to slow slightly with his hand loosening a previously-tight grip on the bedsheets. Despite feeling instantly safer in reality, there was still an the uneasy feeling. It was the feeling someone was watching. He turned his head. Another man lie in his bed, looking on in concern.

  “Ivan?” Medic whispered to himself, almost surprised to be seeing him. something in his grasp. A lower arm, not one of his own. He had held it so tightly that the circulation had been cut off the hand from the wrist. Shocking realization of what he had done made his heart pang as he let go, pulling his still-trembling hands back into his lap. “Oh Gott...! B-Bitte, verzeih mir...” the german sputtered in his native tongue, struggling to gather himself.

  Heavy felt too afraid to touch Medic in a comforting manner, unsure of if this would make him more anxious than he already seemed to be. “Doktor, is just me, ok? Is okay now. Calm down,” Heavy spoke to him quietly.

  Medic still carried a look of disturbance on his sweat-covered face. A mouth opened to retaliate in response, but couldn’t do more than sigh. His hand reached to pass through grayed hair, pushing back the usual cowlick that spiraled to his forehead.

  “Did I hurt you?” he asked. Trying to speak proved to be a challenge as a still-unnerved body’s shaking and thick German accent fought against the clarity in his words. 

  “Nyet. Heavy is fine. But, how is Dotktor?”

  The truth was much more than something he wanted to admit. It wasn’t possible for him remember the horrible dream, like all the other times he’s experienced something akin to this subject matter while sleeping. But he could remember how filled with fear he had become. While it was similar to horrid scenarios he had dreamt and experienced in the past, it felt as if it was happening again with each new iteration, despite the Classic Heavy being long dead before these night terrors. It felt like he was there again, using him as his own personal tool. It couldn’t be that, though. He was long gone. Dead. 

  But Medic was too on that same day, with a bullet in his chest. No repsawn active as he laid motionless in the dirt. Bleeding out. Yet, still alive, thanks to his own amoral doings to his teammates.

  Medic considered if he should lie, continuing to tremble as it had yet to come out of a fear-induced shock. He figured the effort would be futile as his body language had already revealed his state of mind. Besides, Heavy knew these nights unfortunately well now, and what he would be hiding in a lie. 

  “No,” he admitted as he let his still-shaking hand grab a hold on to Heavy’s.

  Heavy immediately noticed the gesture and wrapped his own hand around the man trying to casually seek for comfort. The larger thumb skimmed over Medic’s knuckles, attempting to coax him into a more relaxed state. It pained the man to watch the one he loved seem so distraught. Seeing the state that he was in brought out a need to help in Heavy; a deep desire to be affectionate.

  But the worry of creating more distress by his good-hearted advances made him fear trying. What Medic had shouted in his sleep that night made physical contact seem like an emotional gamble; he practically screamed to be let go by whoever was handling him in his head. 

 “Oh, Heavy is sorry for this,” he empathized to the doctor. “Thought that was the problem, though. Doktor moving around and yelling in sleep, like usual when it happens.”

  Medic’s grip tightened.

  “Gottverdammit... You shouldn’t have to hear that.” Fear almost seemed to turn to annoyance in that instant; a spark of hated igniting within himself. A mixture of guilt and spite of the Classic Heavy made his heart begin to pick up its pace. Adrenaline pumping so suddenly as he remembered all the things that bastard had done to him. Resurfacing memories of a tyrant of a boss who had him trapped between his payroll and a life-binding contract. Obeying him like he was some kind of disposable animal, yet one he had to keep alive. 

  But these thoughts seemed to quickly fade away as his own Heavy shifted noticeibly closer to him in the bed, derailing his train of thought alltogether with that movement. 

  He let himself relax before turning his body closer to Heavy, now leaning up against his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he stated, trying to make up for the wavering anger he felt. A slow sigh allowed his grip to loosen as he let it escape his throat. 

  “... For?” Heavy tried to coax out a reasoning. 

  He twiddled with the fingers of his partner’s larger hand in a rather anxious manner before he finally spoke. “It’s just.. hard to deal with these nights,” he quietly divulged, then pausing as he looked towards the ceiling. “I’m just... such coward.”

  “What?” Heavy asked, unsure of where his sudden assessment of himself came from. “Why do you believe this?”

  In his mind, he answered. 

  _I run away, from everything. Like a coward,_ he began.  _I ran from this Heavy in fear, ultimately leaving the team. After that I just ran from I started. Ran from that monster of a man. Then, it came time for me to die. But I didn’t. Because I was now so afraid of doing what I did to you in the first place: leaving. But it’s all out of fear. How could you call me anything less than a coward?_

  “Medic?”

  To finally answer, he could only come up with the same phrase in reply; “I’m a coward.” The statement left Medic’s lips with a tinge of reluctance, meaning growing sharper as he said it.

  Medic considered the personally-depreciating thoughts buzzing through his head with a realization that Heavy would never know how much of a choice death ever was for him. He viewed it as a miracle, despite Medic spending a stolen soul to return. Merely out of fear to die, knowing full well the rest of his teammates would be stuck in this mortal coil for as long as their bodies could physically endure. 

  Heavy’s gaze at Medic gradually became more bewildered and dejected. All his teammate seemed to be doing was looking out to nothing, like his mind had completely preoccupied. 

  The English word “coward” was not something Heavy was incredibly familiar with. Although, he did know about this word left him unsettled. The Classic Heavy had accused them both of being one the day the fought. A shiver shot down his spine in remembering the day Medic had laid dead on the ground; Two bullet wounds in his chest seemingly sealing his fate. The rage he felt to combat this mourning. Heavy’s heart grew sore at the thought of lifeless eyes of a lover. These painful memories could not deter his anger, yet he was able to calm himself down with more saddened feelings.

  “Doktor is not coward,” he attempted to validify, turning his head to look at his partner. It became harder to find ways to reassure, being as stubborn as he was.

  “But we both know he was-”

  “Stop that. You are not coward,” Heavy commanded. His own blood began to steadily boil at knowing who “he” was. “Do not listen to awful man,” he insisted. “He is gone now.”

  Medic turned his head as he let himself fall quiet, his body rest on the side of his partner’s. Arguing seemed to be futile. He couldn’t understand, and deeply Medic didn’t want him to. 

  A pair of deep, cobalt blue eyes let themselves look downwards to the sheets. Medic let out a short noise of aknowledgement before laying down further, his eyes seemed as heavy as they could get without being shut. It was a clear fight to keep them open. 

  “Doktor, go to sleep... Very tired, yes?” he asked as calmly as he could to him while looking down to his face. Grayed hair hung over the forehead in a languid manner, his body conveying an equally worn expression. 

  “Only if you promise not to let me hurt you in my sleep, Ivan.”

  “Did not hurt me,” he replied. 

Medic turned slightly to his side to be able to grab the Heavy’s arm. There was very evident bruising where he had been grasped onto several nights before.

  Heavy observed his soon-to-worsen injury before forming a light response. “Eh.. Been worse,” he spoke with a shrug and slight smile. “We are in war, you know.” That remark got a short laugh out of the both of them.

  “Okay, okay...” He relaxed, shifting himself into Heavy further, now being in lap. Heavy’s hands had moved to hold him. The large palms of his partner slightly toyed with his hair. It was clear that he was drifting off to sleep once again.

  Despite never wanting Heavy to go back to that awful night, mentally or physically, he pondered briefly if he should tell him everything he could. But his time to do so came to a close as the sleep-deprived man was taken back to rest.


End file.
